My bladder wakes me up mere seconds before the alarm starts chirping from across the room. I slowly open one eye, and try to focus on the glowing numbers. 5:45?! I mumble incoherently at the husband, and he takes the tone to be threatening. And he's right. I have no qualms with being woken up at the ungodly hour, on the condition that he actually hauls his hiney out of bed, and goes to the gym.
Instead, 3 days a week for the past 6 months finds me being woken up before the rooster would even find acceptable, while the clod quickly fumbles for the off button, often times missing and switching the noise from the soothing radio, to a war cry that is not of this earth. There's nothing like the sounds of a siren to get you out of bed in a hurry. He wonders why I growl.
So here I am, 20 minutes later, exhausted, needing to get moving while the oaf is still in bed. Snoring. Snoring!
I will tell him lovingly when he gets up this morning that there are times while he is sleeping, that I prop myself up on one elbow, and I just watch him. I'll then inform him, that it takes everything I have not to put a pillow over his head and beat him senseless.
That might be me talking, the lack of sleep, TOM or a harmonious combination of the 3.
I'm going to learn to play the bugle. That will show him.
Off to the shower. Shampooing will create a diversion for my hands, and keep them from harming the man.
Until lunch...
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4 comments:
Ouch, 5:45am, I only get up that earlier when I'm on the day shift which is rarely.
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You're ALWAYS tired.
You don't have any peeps.
And as for dinner being cooked, I'm just gonna slap a sandwich on a plate for your insolence.
Kitchen better be cleaned after, too.
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